


Sex Tape

by FabulaRasa



Category: DCU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulaRasa/pseuds/FabulaRasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The high-resolution detail on Bruce Wayne's sex tape is really something to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex Tape

"Oh wow," Jason said, squinting at the screen. And then he started laughing. "Holy fucking wow," he said. He picked up his phone without taking his eyes off the screen. While it rang he kept watching. It was not the sort of thing you could look away from, even when you really, really knew that you should. 

"Hey Dick," he said into the phone. "I've got something I think you oughta take a look at."

"Yeah," said Dick. "I'm pretty sure I know what that is. I'm pretty sure all of Gotham knows what that is, but thanks for the hot tip."

"Well excuse me, I've been a little busy the last twenty-four hours. Think Bruce has seen this?"

"I know for a fact he has not. Alfred says he's still asleep. It's front page of the _Gossiper_ this morning."

"I just bet it is," Jason murmured. He was still watching the video. It had a kind of hypnotic effect. "I gotta say, I did not realize Bruce was this. . . limber. Have you watched the whole thing?"

"No, I have not watched the whole thing. What the hell is wrong with you? Turn that off."

"'Kay," Jason said. He didn't. 

"Hang on, Barbara's buzzing in."

Jason started laughing again. "I just bet she is. Holy wow, man. Holy fucking wow. I would love to hear what she has to say about this. We need to set up a three-way. I mean like a three-way phone call, is what I mean, not the other kind of three-way. Although, if you were down with that, that's totally what I meant too."

"Get off the phone," Dick said. "And turn off the screen. We are never going to have this discussion again."

"'Kay," Jason said again. "Wait, which part? About Bruce's freaky-ass sex tape, or about the three-way?"

"Jason," he said, and the voice meant business. "Turn. That. Off."

"Sure thing," Jason said. He clicked the phone off and tossed it on the bed behind him. He grabbed the remote, paused it, and hit the back button. There were some frames he had missed while he was talking to Dick. 

"Bruce," he murmured, as the slow grin spread across his face. "You _dog_."

* * *

"Oh my God," Oliver said. He frowned at the screen. It was like his eyes were taking in the images, but his brain was not processing them, no matter how many times he watched it. "Oh my. . . Jesus shit."

"Oliver? What are you doing?"

Quick as lightning, Oliver clicked the screen off, but not quick enough. "Nothing," he said. "I just—nothing. How was your day?"

"I haven't even gone to work yet," Dinah said, narrowing her eyes. "It's nine o'clock in the morning. What is the matter with you? What were you watching?"

"Nothing. Just. . . you know, the news. So, what's on the plate for today?" He could hear how unconvincing was his manufactured cheeriness. She frowned at him suspiciously, then reached around and clicked on his screen. He winced as her eyes widened in horror.

"You _watched_ it?"

"No! Of course not! I mean. . . not _all_ of it. I wouldn't, you know. . . do that. I was just—"

"You _watched_ it!"

"Okay, fine, sue me, I watched it! Me and everyone else in this time zone, so I don't see how that makes me some kind of criminal. I mean Jesus Christ, have you _looked_ at any of it?"

" _No_ ," she said, with just enough emphasis that he was pretty sure she was fibbing. Odds were she had at least glanced at some of it. He was pretty sure You Tube was eating bandwidth from nearby asteroid fields, at the rate people were downloading this morning. 

"You know who's on that tape with him," he said gravely.

"Yes," she sighed. "I do. Obviously. Have you. . . talked to him at all?"

Oliver shook his head. "Hell of a way to get famous."

"Well, no one's identified him yet," Dinah pointed out. "So there is that."

"Yeah," he said. "Well, we'll see. But you know him, I'm sure he's fine with it. I mean, I gotta say — he does not seem like he is having a bad time in it. If we're being honest, he looks kinda like he's—" 

"Do _not_ turn that back on."

"I wasn't!"

"You were," she said, and she was right, he had been glancing back at the screen. But he didn't have to turn it back on to see the images he was pretty sure he was going to require therapy to forget. And League meetings—how the hell was he ever supposed to attend one of those again? His cell buzzed on the desk, and he could see that it was Barry. 

"You don't have to pretend you didn't watch it," he said, silencing Barry for now. "I mean, look, if there were a sex tape out there of, like, say, just hypothetically and off the top of my head, Batgirl and Zatanna going at it, I would be watching the shit out of that thing."

"You're watching the shit out of this thing," she pointed out. "And I am not interested in watching, so just stop it."

"Uh huh. Well, in this thing you're not interested in, I do have to say production values are pretty high. There are even some musical versions out there. I highly recommend the one with _Walk the Moon_ , though given the audio quality of this thing, dubbing in music seems like a crime." 

She narrowed her eyes even further, and he waved the remote near her face. "You know you want to," he said.

"You're going to hell."

"Absolutely. On the way there, let's just hit play a few more times, shall we?"

She snatched the remote, walked to the window, slid the high-tech glass to the left, and tossed out the remote. He had no doubt she'd managed to hit the river. They were high enough up, and she had a hell of an arm. "What the hell was that for?" he spluttered.

"That was for helping you recover your moral center. Rule one: do not objectify your friends."

"I wasn't objectifying, I was researching. When _you_ watched, that was objectifying."

She rolled her eyes and walked out. Oliver waited for the sound of her heels to die away before he reached for his extra remote in the desk drawer.

* * *

"So all right, let's talk about it: the Bruce Wayne sex tape." Gail set her coffee down and turned to the camera. "Everyone on the east coast and beyond is buzzing this morning. Have you seen it, Stuart?" 

Stuart laughed. "No Gail, I can promise you I have not. Have you?"

"No comment," she said, her perfect white teeth flashing in a laugh. "But all right, I'm going to ask the question no one seems to be asking this morning. Did anyone know Bruce Wayne was gay?"

"Well," Stuart temporized. "I'm not sure there's any definitive evidence it's actually Bruce Wayne in that tape—"

"It sure looks like it! Shall we roll to video?"

"Stop," Stuart said, laughing even harder. "This is a morning show, I'm pretty sure we can't do that."

"I'm pretty sure _no one_ can do that," Gail said. "And what about the other guy on the tape, Bruce Wayne's mystery lover? Have you heard anything about who he might be?"

"You know, I haven't, but there's all sorts of speculation out there. One website this morning was claiming that Joaquin Phoenix—"

"Oh stop, Stuart, we all know it was you!" Gail collapsed in laughter, and Stuart held up his hands in mock defeat, and the laughter in the studio audience rose. 

Bruce clicked off the screen and stood there, calmly sipping his own coffee. His appearance of calm was just that — an appearance — but sometimes that was enough. He could only school his racing mind if he first calmed his body. 

The Morning Show with Gail and Stuart had only been a background screen, and it was an unnecessary distraction. He had only been listening with half an ear anyway; he was in fact focused on the main bank of screens in front of him, frowning at them. There were images frozen on each one, and he was advancing them slowly, inch by excruciating inch, sifting through them for the information he needed. 

Today's edition of the _Gotham Gossiper_ was tossed on the keyboard beside him, but he had downloaded the video before he had even seen the article. His phone had exploded with text messages from all sorts of helpful people in the wee hours. _Did I not tell you those lat work-outs would come in useful?_ George Clooney had texted, at five-thirty this morning. Distractions, again. 

He drank his coffee and advanced the screens, his eyes scanning carefully. He ignored the buzzing of his phone; he ignored Alfred's careful tread in and even more quickly out of the cave. To be fair, the man was used to seeing far more horrifying images displayed on these screens, but this was probably a bit much, even for Alfred. 

When he found what he was looking for — what he had dreaded finding — he set his coffee down and shut his eyes. A moment's indulgence, a brief weakness. And then he froze the frame and picked up the phone for the call he knew he had to make.

* * *

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Bruce said, without turning around from his screens. Because why would you turn around when greeting someone, right? Hal crossed his arms. There was never any comfortable place to sit in the Cave, which he was sure was intentional. 

"Sure," he said. "So what's up? Is this not a business meeting?" He asked because Bats was in the non-Bats uniform of black turtleneck and pants. It was a little frightening because his sleeves were pushed up and he was drinking coffee, which was the casualness equivalent in a normal person of, say, wearing only your underwear while sucking beer from a double-canned guzzler helmet. 

"Not exactly," he said, but he still hadn't turned around. He was standing there clicking through lists of things on his screens. So Hal found a chair with stacks of papers resting on it, cleared it off, and made himself at home, propping his feet on the table that had more papers resting on it. Bats was kind of a slob.

After a few minutes the scrolling stopped, he put down his clicker, and he looked at Hal, his face grave. "I owe you an apology," he said, and that was when Hal saw the open Gossiper tossed on the table beside him.

"Oh," Hal said, raising his eyebrows. "Right. Well, look, I'm not all about the recip, and really, who's keeping count? You don't need to feel bad about it."

Bruce's face didn't smile. "I'm serious," he said. 

"About the apology? What the hell for? A good time was had by all, and what do I give a shit if my naked ass is all over the You Tubes? Seriously Bats, lighten up. It's not 1954, no one is going to care past next Tuesday. Maybe it's different in your homophobic world, but that's not where I live, buddy."

It was a little worrisome, the way Bruce just kept studying him. "For real," Hal said. "Forget it."

"There's something you need to see," Bruce said, and he turned back to his screens. This time he pulled up something Hal was a little more familiar with. 

"Ah. . . okay," he said. "Are we gonna do a frame by frame here? Because if so maybe I'm a little overdressed." 

Bruce was doing something with the frames, enlarging them, stopping them at some points. Hal winced. The truth was, he hadn't actually watched any of it, and seeing some of this live and in color on Bruce's gigantic screen, in front of Bruce no less—it was a bit much. Bruce was slowing the advance now, and he stopped on a close-up of Hal — not one where any exciting bits were visible, just a naked torso and his face in half-profile. In the blurred frame, you could see a trace of orgasmic grin. It wasn't such a bad shot, really. Maybe he'd be more upset about the whole viral sex tape thing if he looked worse in it, but when your pic was appearing next to headlines like _Mystery Hottie Beds Bruce Wayne_ , how upset could you reasonably be?

"Here," Bruce said. He clicked a few more times, pulling the screen in closer and closer. He was focusing on Hal's hand. Hal's hand. . . .curled around what was clearly and undeniably Bruce's cock. The slow advance turned the caressing motion of his hand into a pinkish blur. Although maybe the pinkish blur was Bruce's cock. How the hell Bruce could stand there and sip his coffee while watching a 500-times life size enlargement of his tackle was beyond him. 

"The level of resolution I'm using here," Bruce said, "is not one that is going to be easily available to most publishing houses, particularly the Gossiper. So that buys us a little bit of time. But not much."

"Time for what? What are you talking about?"

And then Hal saw it: Hal's hand, the Green Lantern ring clearly visible on it. That's what Bruce was focusing in on, and he had missed it at first because of, well, all the dick. Hal's hand filled the whole screen, illuminating the Cave. The detail on the ring was very clear. Hal was no longer smiling. "Okay," he said. "Well. The thing is, there are about a thousand knock-offs of a Lantern ring out there. That could have come from anywhere. Any asshole could get one of those offa eBay. I saw one at the Quik-n-Save just the other day."

Bruce was watching him. "Yes," he said. "But you are forgetting something. I'm in this video. Bruce Wayne already has ties to the Justice League. I've been linked to financial support of Batman, which Wayne Industries has not been at pains to deny. I've been associated publicly with several members of the Justice League. It is a matter of hours, possibly, until some enterprising individual pulls up the image of that ring, sees what it is, and poses the question: is Bruce Wayne in bed with the Green Lantern?"

"Okay, but—"

"And it is a matter of only a few more hours until you are identified in this video. Your face is visible, repeatedly. Yes, you're a private citizen, and you lead a low-profile life, but there will be someone somewhere in your life who is willing to make some money off of recognizing you at the bus stop, or the grocery store. I give it twenty-four hours before the name Hal Jordan is put to this video."

Hal was quiet, staring at the screen.

"You see where this is going," Bruce said. "In very short order, the headline is not going to be, _Bruce Wayne Has Wild Gay Sex With Mysterious Stranger_. It's going to be, _Is Hal Jordan the Green Lantern_?"

There was no sound in the Cave. In some distant corner, he could hear a small drip-drip off a stalactite. "Your life will not be recognizable," Bruce said. "No one will wait for proof. There will be news vans parked in front of your apartment. And after the news vans go away, the people will still be there. Night and day, waiting for the Green Lantern to come save them, asking for the Green Lantern's help. They will be knocking on your door, knocking down your door to get to you, most likely. You will have to go into hiding. Your life as you know it will be over."

He was still watching Hal. "So when I say I owe you an apology, it's because I have something to apologize for."

Hal rose. He opened his mouth to say something, and shut it. He clenched and unclenched his fist. He tried to think, but he couldn't seem to marshal a coherent thought. "You don't have anything to apologize for," was all he could think to say. "Jesus Christ Bruce, this is not your fault." 

"Isn't it," Bruce said. "You think this video was an accident? It was taken because I'm Bruce Wayne, and because who I have sex with is somehow news. And because when we checked into that hotel I was not Batman, I let myself forget about security, however briefly. I didn't check the room. I didn't stop to think. Or rather, I did think, but there was only one thing on my mind. You're wrong, I have plenty to apologize for."

Hal sat back down, and this time he put his head in his hands. Only Bruce could manage to combine _you're wrong_ with _I'm sorry_. If he could just think. If he could just concentrate. "Okay," he said. "Who did it? Any ideas on that one?"

"Several. My guess would be, the hotel clerk recognized me very quickly, and gave us a room that had been set up for just such an occasion as this. The video quality is excellent, as I'm sure you've seen, but the camera could have been as small as a little disc pressed to a curtain, or on the edge of a picture frame. That sort of equipment is expensive, but for a sting like this an up-front investment would have been worth it."

"That's the last time the St. Regis gets my business," he murmured.

"Yes. It was very well-executed, for what it was. I've been running lists of the hotel staff, cross-checking them with who was on duty that night, accessing what I can of their security feed. It would have had to be several of them working together, to pull off something like that. It should be a simple matter to find out who sold it to the Gossiper."

"And some meat knob at the Gossiper leaked it to the net," Hal said. 

"That would be my assumption, yes."

Hal leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. "How long, do you think?"

"It could be as little as twenty-four hours."

He fought the rising tide of nausea in his middle. Twenty-four more hours of his life. What would you do, if you had twenty-four more hours of normal life left you? But Bruce was still talking. "My recommendation would be that you go off world," he was saying. "You could make the Watchtower your home base. Somewhere you could escape the press and subsequent exposure."

"So much for my job," he said dully. "So much for flying again. Your idea is, I go live on the Watchtower for the rest of my life."

"It's not a great plan, I admit."

"Oh, you fucking think?" He swept the stack of papers on the table to the floor. "Fuck," he said. "Fuck fuck _fuck_."

"I know that in this case apologies don't—"

"Bruce, I have a life. I have responsibilities. I have—I can't just walk away from my job, all right? I _need_ that job."

"Carol Ferris doesn't need desperate mobs banging down the gates of Ferris Air twenty-four seven."

"I don't—what do you even—I _can't_ go off world, all right? I just. . . I can't. That is not a possibility here. I can't just walk away from every responsibility I have. My job is not some disposable pastime, some place where I go to keep myself busy, all right? Not all of us—Jesus _Christ_." He was aware he was pacing, aware he was not being rational. All of this because he couldn't keep his cock in his pants. All of this because when Bruce had grabbed his shirt and whispered _you have the most unbelievably gorgeous ass_ , his stupid dick had decided to perk up like an overexcited Labrador when someone jingled the leash. And now his whole life was on fire, because he couldn't manage to remember the _up_ setting on his zipper. 

"It's not an option," he said finally. "Leaving is not something I can do, all right?"

"All right. Then you at least need a place to lie low, someplace with excellent security. May I suggest the Manor, until we come up with a better plan?"

"No you may not. Bruce, I am not going to move into your fucking house. I can. . . I'll come up with something, all right? I'll think of something."

Bruce's face had returned to that quiet watchfulness. "It was my responsibility," he said. "This happened because you were with me. I know intentions are irrelevant, but my intention was only to bring you pleasure. The irony that I managed the opposite is not lost on me."

He found nothing to say to that. The thing was, it was true. Being in bed with Bruce, it was clear the man had had one objective, and that was to make Hal come as many times as possible. And he had. God, but he had. The first time, they had both come so fast. They had been so cranked, and Bruce's hands had been everywhere, and his mouth. . . 

But great as it had been, it had not been worth the rest of his life. He had no idea what to say to Bruce. _You brought me maybe more pleasure than I've ever experienced with another human being, and it's all I've been thinking about, and even now you look so incredibly delicious standing there in your black fucking turtleneck and smelling of ridiculously expensive aftershave that it's all I can do not to walk over there and climb on top of you?_

Or how about, _yeah, you're damn right, it was your fucking job to worry about personal security when you're Bruce fucking Wayne, and fuck you for destroying my life, and not just my life, but the life of people who need my paycheck who you don't even know about, who need me here on this planet and not hiding out in another fucking galaxy?_

"Yeah," he said finally. It was all he could think of to say. "Well. We'll. . . I'll think of something. Thanks for—" he made a vague gesture at the screen, and its still-frozen magnified image of his ring. "For letting me know about this," he said. And he headed out the back entrance of the Cave, the way he had come in, through the dark and the drip of stalactites.

* * *

Bruce stood there for some time after Hal had walked out. Anyone watching him would think he was just lost in thought, standing there staring at nothing. But it was a battle, and every once in a while — not often these days, not like when he was younger — he lost the battle. He looked at the papers Hal had scattered at the floor, at the chair he had been sitting in. He looked at the screen Hal had been looking at, with the frozen image of the ring on it. And he walked up to the screen and pulled it off the wall.

It was a fifty-inch screen, and it took considerable force to wrench it loose — enough force that when it fell to the rock floor, it cracked right across with a sick and satisfying sound. And then he took the chair Hal had been sitting in and lifted it over the screen, bringing the full force of it down on the crazed blackish rainbow that five minutes ago had been one of the most expensive pieces of equipment in the Cave. For good measure, he did it again, and then again. At some point he was just beating the screen with the chair, and then he hurled what was left of the chair into a corner and heard it skitter off of something else, probably breaking that too. His arms ached, and his chest was pounding, but the wild thing in his belly would not stop clawing at him. He bent his head against the damp Cave wall and just gripped it, willing his fingers to tear down the rock piece by piece until it crushed him, if he could just forget the look on Hal's face.

Every now and again, he lost the battle.

He didn't know how long he stood there, but he knew when he felt a firm hand on his back, gripping his shoulder, trying to pull him around. Alfred. He shook his head.

"Come here," said Alfred's brusque voice, so he did, and for not the first time in his life he bent his head to the thin wiry shoulder, and let himself be circled by those arms that were somehow stronger than anyone else's he knew.

 _Alfred, I failed him. Alfred, he could barely look at me_ , he wanted to say, but his throat was too tight for words. 

_Alfred, what do I do?_

"I made some tea," Alfred said. "Come have some. Come now."

He nodded against Alfred's shoulder, and took one more deep breath there, and found his center again. He raised his head and glanced in disgust at the wreckage he had made. The actions of a thwarted child. "I'll clean up," he said.

"Yes," said Alfred. "But tea first."

He dutifully drank his tea under Alfred's meditative gaze. A cup of tea with Alfred was the price for losing a battle with his temper, as it had been since he was a boy. He was never exactly certain what was in Alfred's tea, but he always felt better afterward. Three and a half parts darjeeling, a half part spine, and a half part stiff upper lip. "Rather angry at yourself, aren't you," Alfred said, surveying with a serene expression the shattered screen and the mess of the Cave.

"Yes," he said shortly.

"Mm. And justly so, I should think. What a very unwise thing you did."

Bruce set his teacup down. "You don't seriously think I made that tape."

"Of course not. But here is the thing," he said, squinting into the distance over the rim of his tea. "I would imagine, because I know you not a little, that you are furious with yourself over this perceived lapse in vigilance. This is, to you, an issue of security."

"It is."

"It isn't," Alfred said. He replaced his teacup on its saucer and turned his gaze on Bruce. "It is an issue of manners."

" _Manners_ ," Bruce repeated. "I think that's a lecture for the _Gotham Gossiper_ , not for me."

"Do you. A gentleman does not invite someone he cares about to an hotel room. A gentleman entertains a guest he truly esteems in his home. You have been berating yourself because you failed, briefly, to think like Batman, when all you ever had to do was what I've been trying to teach you since you were four: think like a gentleman."

Alfred did not raise his voice, because Alfred never needed to raise his voice to slice clean through you. He was putting the tea things back on the tray now. "It's a curious thing, being a gentleman," he was saying. "It has a way of taking care of all sorts of problems. Even more curious that it should require no money at all, or specialized equipment, or armored suits. Yet more curious still, that no amount of money or specialized equipment or armored suits should turn one into a gentleman."

Bruce dropped his eyes. He was seven years old again, and his face burned at the reproof, and at the gentleness of Alfred's voice. The Cave was quiet, and Alfred was letting the quiet rest there. "I should let you get to work," Alfred said, lifting the tray and heading to the stairs.

Alfred's tea — and distinct lack of sympathy — fueled him through the rest of his day, though he wisely ignored his cell. He considered changing his number just to get away from all the texts, from Clark's nine thousand and nine earnestly concerned _Are you sure you're okay_ s to Jason's increasingly obnoxious messages. _Care to comment on frame 1.27.48?_ was the last one, before Bruce tipped his cell into a nearby trash can.

He forgot it was in there until about 11 that night. He had fallen onto the cot in the corner of the Cave, intending just to close his eyes for a bit and then get back to work, when he heard the buzzing. It was a phone call, not a text, and something told him to rummage through the bin and pull out the phone. "Yeah," he said, when he saw who it was.

"So I had a thought," Hal said.

"All right." He rubbed at his eyes to wake himself. 

"I think I might know how to fix this. And by 'might' I mean, I definitely know how to fix this."

He got up and walked to the coffeemaker over in the medical bay. He had not meant to fall asleep so early. "I'm listening."

"But the question is this. How bad do you want to fix this?"

He wasn't sure what to say to that. Did Jordan think he was insincere in his apology, that he was somehow unaware of what all this meant to Jordan? There was close to nothing he wouldn't do to fix his blunder here. "If you have an idea, let's hear it," he said.

"Okay. But can I come over? I think this is something I'm going to need to explain in person."

"All right," Bruce said again. He switched the setting on the coffeemaker to six cups instead of three and settled in to wait.

* * *

Hal watched him carefully, aware of how unlikely Bats was to go for this. The man was sitting in front of his monitors, but swiveled now to face Hal, frowning at him. "Let me understand this," he was saying. "You want to fix the problem of a sex tape. . . by making another sex tape."

"Yes," Hal said. 

"There is a reason I am the leader of the League for strategy, and you are not."

"Hear me out."

"Hal, there is zero way that the two of us making another sex tape is going to help anything."

"I didn't say _we_ would make a sex tape."

"You said that I—"

"I said, you. _You_ would make a sex tape."

Bruce's frown had definitely become a scowl. "You think that my masturbating in front of a camera would solve all our problems."

"No, just listen. Look, the problem is, the whole world is about to think Bruce Wayne is sleeping with the Green Lantern, right? You were right about that much, it's happening already." 

It had happened sooner than Bruce had thought it might, apparently. There were already a few websites that had found that ring on his hand; there were already some reddit threads about Bruce Wayne boning the Green Lantern on the regular. _Swear to God this was a one-off_ , he was tempted to leap in and say. But the point was, the clock was ticking, and faster than he had hoped it would. No one had identified him yet, but Bruce was right about that too — it was a matter of time. A matter of hours, most likely. And maybe even a shorter amount of time before all that Green Lantern talk hit the morning gossip shows.

"Yes," Bruce said. So he was tracking it too. 

"Okay. So my idea is this. You make another sex tape, but with Wonder Woman this time."

Now Bruce was rubbing at his forehead like he had a headache starting. "If I had a month," he said, "I could not begin to explain to you all the reasons that is a terrible idea."

"Not the _actual_ Wonder Woman, all right? You hire someone who _looks_ kinda like her, but a fake. Like, a clear fake. And maybe you get her to tie you up in her fake lasso a couple of times, and maybe her wig slips a little, and maybe her outfit isn't quite right, but whatever, my point is, it's a _fake_ , get it? And it's a fake because that's what Bruce Wayne does — he gets off by sleeping with League impersonators."

Bruce was quiet. "I know it sounds crazy," Hal said. "But if people saw that, if we could leak that onto You Tube, it would make people think the other's a fake too. Then the story becomes, not _Some dude named Hal Jordan is the Green Lantern_ , but _Bruce Wayne busts his nut for people who dress up like superheroes_."

Bruce was still quiet, and Hal wasn't sure if that meant he was agreeing, or about to hurl a Batarang at him. Probably an electrified one. "You want people to think Bruce Wayne supports the Justice League because he is a sexual fetishist," he said, his voice even.

"I—yes. Okay. Sort of. It would mean you being willing to make an idiot of yourself," Hal continued. "I get that. People would laugh. They would think — they would think all kinds of things that aren't true, about you. If you don't want to do it, I wouldn't blame you."

Bruce's finger was tapping on the arm of his chair. His scowl had definitely relaxed into thoughtfulness. "Making people think something untrue about me," he said slowly, "might in fact be just the way to make them unthink something true about you."

"So. . . does this mean you're considering it?"

Bruce studied him. "It means, it's not the worst idea I've ever heard. There are a couple of adjustments that need to be made, however."

"Like?"

"Like we do nothing without telling Diana how her image is about to be used, and getting her permission. And the same goes for the sex worker I hire. I don't have to tell her the truth about your situation, but certainly enough of the truth so she is aware of what she's getting into. No one is getting their naked image spread across the internet without full consent."

Hal raised his eyebrows. "That's likely to cost you. You think you can find someone, fast?"

"I'm reasonably sure. I have some connections who have helped me out before, in a professional capacity."

"Your profession, or theirs?"

Bruce made some motion with his eyes that was probably meant to be an eyeroll. "All things considered, this should be doable," he said. "Within a few hours, at least."

"Are you saying you'll do it?"

"I'm saying I'm thinking about it."

"The sentence that is about to come out of my mouth is not one I ever thought I would say, to anyone. But I could not be any more sincere when I say to you: Bruce, please, _please_ sleep with a hooker for me."

It was definitely an eyeroll now.

* * *

"So this is not your average gig," Fiona was saying, "but I've seen worse."

She was sitting on the edge of a bed at the St. Regis, long legs crossed, dark hair loose. She was wearing a demure wrap dress and heels with a pearl choker — the sort of outfit that Hal associated with lawyers, not high class escorts. When Bruce had said he knew of someone, Hal had had in mind someone more like the street workers who populated downtown Gotham. Somehow he had thought that was what Bruce had meant. 

"It would be more exposure than you are accustomed to," Bruce was saying. "Even with the costume, there's a possibility you would be recognized."

"I realize that," she said. "It's not really a negative. Granted, most of my work is much less public, but this could definitely open me to a whole new clientele. I'm looking to branch out anyway."

"Thank you," he said gravely. "This would be of tremendous help to me. I can't thank you enough for considering it."

"Of course," she said. "Look, I've been through some things in the last few years, and Batman has helped me out a lot, let's just put it that way. So when he calls and tells me I should help out his friend Bruce Wayne with this one, I'm inclined to listen."

"I'm grateful."

"It's just a little odd, that's all."

"How so?"

"I just mean, this is the first I've known of Bruce Wayne wanting a professional, and I would know that sort of thing. But I guess finding someone who looks just like Wonder Woman wasn't that easy." She was looking at Hal now, and then back at Bruce, and the shrewd assessment of her gaze was unsettling.

"Anyway," she said, unclipping her pearls. "You can tell Batman I've got his back on this one. And for what it's worth, you might tell the Lantern I've got his."

Hal stood. "Bruce, can I talk to you a minute?"

They both raised their eyebrows at him. "Just for a second," Hal said, stepping into the bathroom, and he heard Bruce following him. The bathroom was the size of his apartment. He didn't remember the bathrooms at this hotel being so big. Or was this room an upgrade from the one Bruce had gotten with him?

Bruce shut the door. "What's the matter with you?"

"Are you fucking insane?" Hal whispered. "This is not going to work. This is a terrible idea."

"This was your idea. Why do you think it's terrible now that you've met Fiona?"

"Because it's—she's—Bruce, she _knows!_ She has to know! Come on, it's obvious she knows. You should never have had me come here, you should have just done this whole deal on your own."

"You're the one who insisted on—"

"Like she's not putting it together that you and Batman are the same person? Are you serious? Bruce, you risked your _identity_ for this!"

"Yes," he said. "I took a calculated risk."

Hal just stood there, stunned. He blinked at Bruce. "Holy fuck," he said. "Bruce, nothing is worth you risking that."

"Some things are."

The bathroom was quiet. The warm lights above the gleaming mirror, the kind of lights that made anyone look ten years younger, softened the harsh lines of Bruce's face. Bruce's hands were in his pockets. "She's very pretty," Hal said, his voice tight. 

"You said she needed to look like Diana."

"Yeah, well, she does all right."

The quiet resettled around them. In another minute Fiona would be knocking on the bathroom door asking if they were all right. Or maybe not. Not commenting on strange behavior was probably an important character trait, in her line of work. "This needs to happen," Bruce said. "And it needs to happen quickly. With some quick editing, I can have this leaked before morning. But for any of that to happen, I need to go back out there."

"Right," Hal said. "Okay." He didn't move. Had it somehow not occurred to him that Bruce would be having sex with this woman? It had all seemed abstract until he had met her. Bruce was going to take his clothes off and kiss this woman. This stunningly beautiful, obviously smart as hell woman that Bruce just as obviously trusted. Bruce would be having sex with her. Very, very good sex. 

"Hal, we need to—"

"Yeah, just one more thing. I need you not to forget something," he said, and he reached for Bruce's shirtfront, grabbed a fistful of it, and yanked him in. He kissed Bruce hard, and Bruce—dear God, Bruce kind of _melted_ into him, like he had been waiting for him to do that, like he had been wanting him to. Bruce was kissing him just as hard. He could feel the scrape of Bruce's shave, that same unbelievable tongue he remembered. 

"You tell me," Bruce was husking in his ear, "you tell me how I forget that." And then they were kissing again, and Bruce's hands had begun roaming, Bruce's hands were on his ass, pulling him in even closer. Hal's cock was beginning to ache a bit, his breathing getting faster. Jesus Christ, but Bruce was good at making out. He put his hands on Bruce's face, held him and kissed him. Bruce's breathing was as fast as his, his hands as rough. 

"Okay," Hal whispered. He came up for air and examined Bruce—rumpled, lips bruised, collar disheveled. And lower down, he could feel the nudge of Bruce's cock against his. For a wild moment he thought about just grabbing Bruce and grinding against him until they both came, but that would be idiotic, that was the opposite of what they were trying to do here.

"Hal," Bruce whispered back. 

"Yeah," Hal said. "I know. Let's not keep Fiona waiting. But you don't forget."

Bruce was reaching into his pocket, and he pressed something into Hal's hand. Hal looked at the key that nestled there. "Ah," he said. "So I'm guessing there's another room in the St. Regis that this opens?"

"No," Bruce said. "That's my house key."

He looked up to see Bruce's eyes on him. He was learning what that meant, when Bruce watched him like that. 

"House key, huh," he said. "Classy move."

He pulled Bruce in for another suffocating kiss, then released him and walked out the bathroom door before he lost his nerve about this whole thing. Fiona was standing by the dresser, buck naked and ass-bare, and holy fuck she was gorgeous. The soft light from the curtained window made her look like a Greek statue, and yeah, Bruce had chosen well. The dark hair fell around her shoulders, and she looked up and smiled. She was examining the Wonder Woman costume laid out on the bed, and fingering the lasso.

"So," she said. "Which side does this go on, again?"

* * *

The Morning Show with Gail and Stuart was the first mainstream media outlet to break the news of Bruce Wayne's latest sex tape. "This guy is unbelievable!" Gail was laughing. "I mean, come _on!_ "

"Oh, now, come on, you can't fault a guy for having a little Wonder Woman crush. Which of us guys hasn't fallen in love with the Amazon princess at some point, am I right?" The studio audience exploded in hoots and catcalls. 

"But seriously, Stuart, does this man have some sort of mental imbalance? Okay, viewers at home, time for our audience poll! The number is scrolling at the bottom of your screen. Call in and tell us what you think — does Bruce Wayne need therapy, or is it a perfectly normal thing to make your partners dress up like the Justice League? Tell us what you think, and while we're waiting for those poll numbers, we have a caller on the line. Kathleen from Tucson, you're on the Morning Show with Gail and Stuart, so tell us what you think — is Bruce Wayne freaky or is he just a freak?"

 _Click_ went the remote, and the screen went blank. Bruce tossed the remote onto the floor. Hal raised a bleary head out of the sheets and pulled himself on top of Bruce. "Hand me a phone," he said with a grin, "I can settle this question immediately."

"Mm," Bruce said, his hands rubbing circles on Hal's back. "The point is, we appear to have had success."

"Yeah," Hal said. "If you wanna call it that." Bruce was a laughingstock on every gossip channel on both coasts, and he was probably already a tumblr meme. He was going to be skewered over this for years. He appeared completely unconcerned. 

"You're naked in my bed," Bruce said. "It's a little hard to worry about anything else right now." Hal bent and started a slow lazy kiss along his jaw. Then he raised his head.

"And Diana was okay with all this?"

"Well. People dressing up like her to fulfill a sexual fetish is not exactly a new idea for her, but this one did require some persuading."

"Oh really? Of what sort?"

Bruce rolled them so he was on top, and Hal felt that thick marvelous body settle deep onto him, around him. "Well that depends," Bruce murmured. "Are you the jealous type?"

Hal laughed — loud enough for Alfred to hear, if he was lurking up on this floor with a breakfast tray, but he didn't care, and from the smile on Bruce's face he didn't either.

"Oh baby," Hal said. "You have _NO_ idea."


End file.
